


The Lottery

by deleiterious



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Female My Unit | Byleth, Fluff and Humor, Gen, One-Sided Attraction, Pre-Timeskip, annette is a sweet little angel but clumsy af, byleth being the best teacher to her students
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23826388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deleiterious/pseuds/deleiterious
Summary: In which Claude von Riegan gets the worst draw of them all in monastery assigned duties. Or does he?Minor in-game spoilers for Byleth's appearance.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 9
Kudos: 82





	The Lottery

Hilda passes the sheet of paper to him with an arch look on her face that borders between pity and amusement. Claude snatches it, with a shrewd look in his eyes.

  
"That's quite the face you're making there, Hilda," he remarks. He glances down at the paper, and feels his mouth twitch involuntarily. Claude has been randomly assigned to dish duty this month with Annette.

  
"You sure won the lottery this time around, didn't you?" Hilda snorts with an unladylike cackle.

  
Annette is the last person anyone in the monastery wants to be paired with when in the kitchen. Despite her goodhearted and friendly nature, Annette is a complete, unmitigated disaster. In an attempt to curb her clumsiness, she will sometimes resort to using her powerful magic to do her bidding. That has resulted in no less than six meat pies exploding, a barrel of dried grain catching fire, and many of the monastery's best dining ware destroyed beyond recognition. 

  
He schools his expression into blissful nonchalance. "Nothing I can't handle," he says breezily, passing the page behind him to Lorenz.

  
Hilda laughs, a hand instinctively rising to cover her open mouth. It's a habit he notices amongst the Fódlan nobility, as if even laughing openly isn't deemed appropriate in this country. "Well, if you need to switch," she suggests with a small waggle of her eyebrows, "I wouldn't mind doing so. For a favor of course."

  
Owing Hilda a favor will certainly cost him more than whatever minor appendage he'll be losing to Annette during dish duty, so he declines with a shake of his head and a masterful change of topic.

* * *

  
The day arrives far sooner than Claude would have liked. Instead of being able to spend the rest of his evening indoors researching the origin of Crests, he finds himself grumpily stepping out into the frigid, pouring rain.

  
Annette bumps into him just on his way out of the dormitory, the top of her head cracking soundly against his chin. "Oh, Claude, owww, sorry," she blubbers, clutching her head with an eye cracked open looking up at him. "Are you okay? Sorry, I wasn't looking! I forgot something in my room and--"

  
Claude holds up his hands to stop her from rambling further. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he insists. "Don't worry about it. I'll meet you in the kitchen. Don't sweat it."

  
Annette brightens, and for a second, Claude fears she will actually hug him. "Thank you so much, Claude. I'll be right there; feel free to leave some extra dishes for me!" She bows gratefully and then scampers off, pigtail loops bouncing behind her.

  
Claude takes the long way to the kitchen, trying to stay dry as much as possible under the protrusions in the stone buildings. Once there, the kitchen staff in charge direct him to the stinking pile of dishes. It's fish day. Because _of course_ it is. With a soft sigh, he puts on one of the ancient aprons hanging from the nearby hook, and gets to work.

  
Claude is no stranger to hard work, but he never would have imagined himself, prince of foreign nation, to be toiling away washing fish carcasses off of plates. He moves onto a plate devoid of any remaining fish meat -- no doubt Raphael's -- and closes his eyes in a brief moment of prayer that his gluttonous friend scrapes his plate exceptionally clean. 

  
Finally, after what feels like ages scrubbing solo, he senses someone peek into the washing side of the kitchen where he is. 

  
"What took you so long, Annette?" he says, loud enough so that it can be heard over his shoulder. 

  
"Annette couldn't make it," a familiar voices tells him. 

  
Claude nearly drops the plate with a start, head snapping back to look at the newcomer. "Teach?" 

  
Byleth reaches up to her green hair and wrings a little water out of it. Her pale fingers brush stray strands of hair off her forehead. She clearly got caught in the rain, or more likely, given the slight color on her face, she was intentionally sparring in this weather before coming here. Claude usually feels like a drowned rat when he's soaked through like she is, but Byleth doesn't seem to care or mind. She pulls her hair behind her, and drapes one of the aprons over her armored uniform. Her eyelashes are stained with raindrops, and her _lips_...

  
Claude feels a lump form in his throat. It's been happening a lot around Teach lately. 

  
"Annette is indisposed," she informs him. "I volunteered to take her place today."

  
At the surprise in his expression, she elaborates. "She tripped while running toward the dormitory. She's with Manuela now. She will be alright, but her ankle is badly twisted." 

  
Somehow, Claude is not surprised at all that Annette has injured herself. Someone as clumsy as her running in this kind of weather? A recipe for disaster. 

  
"But, Teach," he blurts, "usually the students take dish duty. Why didn't they just send someone else? Don't you have more important academic activities to attend to than this?" 

  
Byleth steps close to him, so close he can see the dewy shine of rain on her neck. Small rivulets form at the ends of her hair and race against the curve of her chest, disappearing into a space Claude really should not be thinking about. It's _not proper_. 

  
She picks up a bowl and soaps up a wash cloth, her wet elbow brushing his and sending a jolt through his arm. "The other students are busy attending to their own assigned duties. It's my free day, so I thought I would volunteer." Byleth pauses, her eyes lifting toward the ceiling thoughtfully. "Annette was very upset about not being here to help you. I didn't want to her to worry." 

  
Despite her lack of facial expressions and seemingly detached demeanor, she has always cared for her students, and has done many such favors for them in pursuit of easing their burdens. It's precisely why so many of the students at the monastery like her. It's part of the reason Claude likes her, too.

  
"So, you swapped training for this, huh?" Claude shifts onto his other foot, trying to put a bit of distance between them in front of the shared sink. 

  
"How did you know I was training?" she inquires, methodically picking up another dish.

  
"Don't you always, on your free days?" he replies, briefly wondering if it's appropriate that he knows this about her. "Rain or shine, you're usually out there for hours, aren't you?" He ends it with a question, hoping it masks just how certain he is.

  
Byleth nods, a tiny lift appearing on the corner of her lips. Appreciation? Pride? Claude knows her better than most people, but he can only guess. She's still got her secrets. "How observant of you, Claude."

  
Claude forces himself to wink and smile. "Is that praise I hear, Teach?"

  
Her eyes go back to the work of cleaning. "Don't let it get to your head, little Deer."

  
Claude bites down a few flirtatious rejoinders, and instead tries to focus on finishing up as quick as he can. It's almost too enjoyable to be here, and that's something that worries him, deep down.

  
With two people, the dishes are cleaned and dried efficiently. The night passes without incident. Claude had expected at least a few broken dishes tonight; the possibility of his hair catching fire did dawn on him once or twice, but without Annette as his dish duty buddy, he's miraculously coming out of this chore unscathed. 

  
"Thanks for helping out, Teach," he says, drying pruned up hands. 

  
She unties her apron and hangs it up. "It was no problem at all." She extends her hand out to him, and he obediently gives her his apron as well, fingers brushing hers. Byleth tilts her head to the side, putting the full force of those bright green eyes upon him. Claude stares back, wondering what is going on in that mysterious mind of hers. He gets the feeling he should look away, to make an easy laugh of it, and dispel the intensity somehow, but he doesn't. There is just something so remarkable about the way she looks right now: attention on him and no one else.

She finally nods at him, indicating her imminent departure. "Goodnight, Claude. I will see you in class tomorrow." Without another word, she steps out of the kitchen and he lingers where he is, watching her disappear into the pouring rain.

  
The knot in his throat finally loosens, and he feels the tension leave his shoulders. He rakes a hand through his hair, then quietly rests it against his warm face. 

* * *

  
"So, how'd it go yesterday?" Hilda smirks, playfully throwing an arm around his shoulders. "Aren't you sorry that you didn't switch with me after all?" 

  
Claude reflexively winks at her, his pace slowing down as they reach the entrance of the Golden Deer classroom. With a quick, surreptitious glance inside, he can see that Byleth is by the podium, mercifully dry. She is underlining some papers, looking as composed and stoic as usual.

  
"Actually, it's a miracle," he says. "No accidents at all. Must be the blessing of the Goddess." 

  
"What?" Hilda jumps back in shock. "Nothing happened? Not even a little spill?" 

  
Claude takes his seat, giving a perfunctory wave at Teach as she looks up at him. "Nope, nothing." 

  
Hilda might find out, or she might not, but right now, he's enjoying the expression on her face. He gets to be smug. "That is unbelievable!" Hilda cries loudly, throwing up her hands. "I'm going to have to talk to Annette about this. I don't believe you for a _second_."

  
"Hilda," Byleth interjects, with a warning in her voice, "let's settle down, please. Class is about to begin."

  
Claude continues to put Hilda under the full force of his wicked grin as she gingerly slides into her usual seat. 

  
She sends him a glare, mouthing, "This isn't over, Claude."

  
Claude throws his hands behind his head, leaning back with a self-satisfied smile as Byleth begins instruction.

  
"So, Teach, what are we learning about today?" he quips with a smirk.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes, I get the feeling that Hilda at some point has a crush on Claude, but with Claude being so single-minded and focused on his own goals, he can't see it. I thought I'd sprinkle some of that version of Hilda in here. 
> 
> Byleth is such a good professor. She cares so much, and I really love that side of her.


End file.
